


Losses

by SpookyHoodlum



Category: The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Mother-Son Relationship, No Incest, Spoilers, storge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 10:47:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8283127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpookyHoodlum/pseuds/SpookyHoodlum
Summary: Mrs. Heelshire thinks about the things she lost in that fire twenty years ago and her complicated love for her son.





	

Margaret sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, unable to sleep. Chamomile tea with honey always did the trick for her, as she discovered over many late nights. Arthur was sound asleep, he seemed to never have any trouble.  
  
Brahms was in bed, and at night the house felt hers again. How powerless Arthur must feel. The father is the man of the house, and yet their son was the unspoken ruler. A mother should not allow her child such power over her, and yet she couldn’t bear to do otherwise. He was her only child. The doctors said there could be no others then, and now she was too old for another. Besides, Brahms would probably never allow it. He might…no. She wouldn’t let her mind entertain the thought. It was hard enough to sleep without thinking of the unimaginable things he’d done.

The losses kept her awake at night most of all, a laundry list of all the events they lost twenty years ago. Things she dreamed of and fantasized about. College, his first girlfriend, sending him off to university, dancing with him at his wedding, grandchildren… She saw it all; her son’s unscarred smile and dark curls, coming to visit with a son and a daughter, a wife who understood him. They got him the help he should have had when he was small. She was in denial then, she didn’t want to accept her son had problems that had to be addressed. Twenty years of bowing to his demands, her only comfort found in pretending he was still a child.

Something big and dark moved in the corner of her eye and she startled. Her sudden movement made Brahms flinch as well. Margaret went still. Her grown son rarely appeared in the house, usually his requests were notes slipped under doors. He was uncomfortable being seen outside the walls, and his body language said he didn’t expect to see her there.

   “Hello, dear.” Margaret gave him a tight smile. “Do you need something?”

Brahms just held up the pile of empty Tupperware. He tended to just take what he wanted from the freezer and then bring the containers back when they piled up. He put them down in the sink and turned to leave.

    “Brahms?”

He stopped, but didn’t turn around.

   “…would you like some warm milk?”

There was a long pause. Brahms seemed to consider her offer, then he quietly padded over to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down. He was less intimidating seated. She couldn’t believe how tall he’d grown, even taller than his father. Her boy had grown into a brute.

“Right, it’ll only take a moment dear.” She rose from her seat to get the milk and a clean mug. She could feel his eyes the whole time, the silence stifling. Not that Brahms was ever very talkative, as a child you often had to prod him. She wanted to ask him what he was thinking now, but she was afraid of what he might say. Still she had questions. _Why did you do it? Do you think about what you’ve done? Do you hate me?_

   "Here you are.” She set the mug down in front of him before retaking her seat.

Brahms adjusted the mask so he could drink it, Margaret averted her eyes knowing he was self-conscious. She couldn’t remember what his face looked like. That horrible accident, the fire was just meant to be a front to distract the police. Her poor beautiful son. She tried to get him to take the mask off once and he gave her such a look that she never dared ask again. Her poor shy boy.

He needed a shave. She could faintly see traces of the burn scars on his cheeks. How long had it been since she was able to kiss her real son goodnight? When his cheek was flesh and not cold porcelain? Margaret found herself wondering how it all came to this and she allowed it to happen. She could have saved Brahms from himself if she had only listened. She gave him all he asked, but she could never escape what she lost, could never compensate for all the ways she failed him. No watching him grow, no daughter-in-law, no grandchildren to spoil at Christmas, all because of her.  

She snapped back to reality when Brahms touched her cheek, brushing something away with his finger. A tear. He regarded her with a curious tilt of his head. Oh, but Brahms could be so sweet when he wanted to be. Gentle, even. Her darling odd boy.

   “Oh, nothing, dear.” Margaret shook her head and wiped her eyes. “I was only thinking of how much you’ve grown, your birthday coming soon and all.”

He stared a moment longer, not appearing to buy her response. He rose from his seat to put the empty mug in the sink.  
  
    “All finished? Perhaps you should get back to bed, it’s past both our bedtimes.”

He nodded but he didn’t move, his eyes contemplative. He reached for her and stepped forward, and before Margaret could flinch he leaned down and wrapped his big arms around her. She froze in place. He hadn’t hugged her since he was a child. Margaret wraps her arms around him and returned the firm embrace, savoring it for as long as it lasted. Tears pricked her eyes. He was so much bigger and stronger than her now, but this was him. This was her little boy. The same baby whose fingers and toes she counted, the same little boy who held her hand when he was scared. He was sick but he was alive and her own.   

   “Mummy loves you, Brahms.” She turned her head and kissed that cold porcelain cheek. “And I always will.”

**Author's Note:**

> I actually got pretty emotional writing this in parts, I cannot imagine the pain that Brahms' parents had to deal with for twenty years, or what it must be like to fear your own child. I hope I did it justice considering I'm not and don't plan to ever be a parent. Writing something like this was a first for me, but I'm glad I did it.


End file.
